The Strange Case of the Darwin Manuscript
by Enchantaskip
Summary: Holmes and Watson are invited to inspect a mysterious document


The Case of the Darwin Manuscript

I had taken the opportunity one quiet January morning to check the inventory of my small supply of medicines, only to find that it had become excessively depleted by the epidemics of the winter months, as sadly, indeed, had my patient lists.

I betook myself to Curry, the apothecary, where I discovered none other than my old friend Holmes at the counter, filling a Gladstone bag with colourful bottles.

He looked up at the insistent ringing of the spring bell above the door as I entered and smiled, "Well met, Doctor. I have been purchasing some reagents for an interesting puzzle that has been laid before me. It promises to be less stirring than our general run of adventures but I wonder if you would be at liberty to assist me?"

Scribbling notes to the two patients I was planning to visit that morning and leaving my list with Curry I walked back to Baker St with the detective.

"It is a curious case, a case of a document that our client, who has refused to identify himself, wishes to have authenticated or else exposed definitely as a fraud. He admits it is not a will, a legal document or any form of banking paper, so I am at a loss to understand his obsession. However, the singular fact that he has sent five hundred guineas as an advance and promised the same upon conclusion, for better or worse, suggests that he is in earnest."

He took his half–hunter from his waistcoat.

"We are to be collected in about one hour, which leaves us time for refreshment."

We took tea back in the old rooms, and I felt a pang of wistfulness as I recalled the old days in those chambers.

Finally, a knock on the door announced that our carriage was without. A tall thin man in his thirties, heavily bewhiskered, dressed in an expensive suit of black, welcomed us Without delay he ushered us into the carriage, a substantial four wheeler Brougham, with an unlikely dark rectangle of paper pasted over the mid-part of the door.

"You may call me Mr. Brown." Our host announced.

"Or perhaps Reverend Brown. The high pitched vocal patterns of the Anglican clergyman are unmistakable, as is the wrinkle produced in the coat by the constant carrying of the Good Book in one's pocket."

The man's face reddened.

Holmes looked around, "I take it you represent a gentleman of title, as you have taken steps to conceal the crest upon the carriage door."  
The man recovered his composure and bowed, "Perhaps I do. I must also take the liberty of pulling down the blinds and of asking your associate to let me take custody of his pistol until we are finished. My master will not tolerate firearms in his house."

Holmes nodded to me and I handed over the weapon with reluctance.

Clergyman or no, there was something about the man that conveyed no little sense of unease.

Holmes, of course, appeared unaffected by the strained atmosphere which filled the silence of the creaking carriage.

On and on we went, in an uncomfortable darkness, until finally we could feel gravel crunch under the wheel. This continued for a goodly time, suggestive of an untypically long avenue for London, and indeed, when the door was opened by a muscular servant, we beheld the front of an impressive mansion from the time of Queen Anne, set in what were extremely spacious grounds for a London property.

The clergyman bade us a cursory adieu and the carriage crunched away. Without delay we were led into a large hall, where many great portraits hung shrouded under sheets, and thence to a library where a tall young man in the quiet expensive suiting of an aristocrat greeted us warmly.

He was pale, intense, with a forehead that suggested a high intellect, and his manner betrayed a considerable degree of nervousness.

"Mr Holmes, Doctor Wilson, welcome to my abode. My apologies for the secrecy, but the matter at hand must remain between us for some time yet. Can I send for some refreshment?"

I looked hopefully at the brimming decanters on the sideboard, but my learned colleague, ever focused upon his duty, shook his head.

"Well, to business."

He opened a great safe, removed a finely decorated japanned box from a shelf within and placed it on the desk. After first relocking the safe he took a small key from his fob and undid the lid.

Inside was a fat, slightly yellowed, manuscript written in a copperplate hand.

"This Holmes, is the document whose provenance I would like you to verify. When you read it you will understand the reasons for my precautions. If I am correct, this is the final work produced by the greatest scientist of this century, one that will set the worlds both of science and of established religion abuzz when his final conclusions become apparent."

And so commenced the most tedious vigil I can remember.

Sometimes Holmes pored intently over the pages, his keen eyesight powerfully enhanced by his magnifying glass, sometimes he subjected tiny fragments of the paper or inks to chemical analysis on the scientific apparatus he had brought, and at such times I drew hard on my pipe or inhaled deeply on one of our host's fine cheroots to overcome the stench of his foul compounds.

The hours passed restlessly for me. Two stout grim-faced footmen guarded the door to our chamber, and there was no leaving the room without one close at one's side as a silent turnkey, vigilant even to the extent of refusing one access to the privy unaccompanied.

Our host joined us for dinner, and though the food was superb the grim atmosphere was depressing in the extreme to my spirit.

Our host and Holmes discussed Tractarianism and Ritualism, subjects to which I could contribute but little. The evening ended early and we were escorted to our rooms, separately, Holmes escorted by his host and a burly footman, myself by a second burly servant and a buxom young housemaid named Milly.

It was a small, well furnished chamber, the shutters already locked shut, and the door was locked as soon as she departed. Before she left she said,

"Please do not hesitate to ring for me at any time day or night if you need me."

As she told me this she blinked her right eye rapidly, suggestive of a mild infection such as conjunctivitis or keratitis, but before I could recommend an ointment she was gone, the footman turning the key in the lock behind her.

The following day was the same, our confinement continuing, Holmes engrossed in his complex researches, myself in a stupor of boredom.

Even had I been a reading man, it is not likely that the ecclesiastical histories and theological treatises that filled the shelves would contain anything to engross me.

In fact, at one point my friend looked up from his work and laughed, "Unfortunately, my dear doctor, our library is lacking in any publications to do with the turf."

I grew to know intimately the furnishings of the chamber; the couch on which I spent the day, the desk, its fine surface now stained with a dozen compounds, on which Holmes worked endlessly, the mantelpiece with its Worcester shepherdesses and a pair of fine replica brass cannon, the barred windows overlooking a stretch of grass leading to a high wall.

Holmes said nothing of his conclusions, but on the morning of the third day he set to work again with his retorts and test tubes, then returned to his papers, ordering them in numerous piles, weighing them down with the much battered lead paperweights he had brought with him, and when he ran out of those, with the objects from the mantelpiece.

I thought this unnecessary as the house was singularly free of draughts, and I feared for the porcelain ornaments, but then I recalled how irritated he became at the slightest disorder in his papers, a curious contrast to the carelessness with which he regarded his person.

I drifted into a reverie, a reverie from which I am ashamed to say the maid Milly was not entirely absent, and had no idea how much time had elapsed when my old friend suddenly stood and tugged diligently at the bell.

"Summon your master at once," he ordered the footman, when he appeared, "I have come to a conclusion."

The anonymous aristocrat appeared after but a short delay.

"You will forgive us if we indulge in a coupe of your finest cigars," the detective announced, and lit a pair with a paper spill.

We inhaled with satisfaction

The clergyman smiled bleakly, "I take it you have confirmed the provenance of the document?"  
"On the contrary, sir. The suggestion that this document represents the final output of the brain of the great Charles Darwin is nothing short of risible. The subject, the suggestion that he reconsidered his researches and decided that he had been mistaken, and that a literal interpretation of the Bible was the only explanation of the origins of life, is little more than risible.

The paper, though crudely stained to suggest age, is of modern manufacture. The metallic content of the ink suggests it left the manufactories long after the death of the great philosopher.

The handwriting is a clumsy forgery, and the spelling would give little credit to the great man had he been in fact the author.

As to the detailed content, the ignorance of the author as to the digestive systems of the cirripedia, and the comments as to the origins of the flightless phalacrocorax, could hardly be equalled. The document is a fake sir, and a bad one. Why someone would think that a man such as Darwin would reverse the conclusions of his life's work thus I cannot imagine.

I have produced a written statement to that effect."

He brandished a document, and went on,

" If you would let me have my cheque for five hundred guineas, we can be on our way."

The aristocrat shook his head, his face flushing with embarrassment before settling into a mask of fixed determination.

"I had hoped for your willing compliance in return for a generous recompense, but now it appears that we shall have to coerce, by whatever means we need to adopt, your dying conclusion that the paper is intact. Only thus can I turn back the tide of science that is overturning the fundamental truths long taught by our institutions of education. Unless you co-operate you will have a very unpleasant time of it from my assistants before you finally sign the document and go to your graves in our kitchen garden"

Holmes face was grave, "Sir, you insult both religion and science by this insistence that they cannot co-exist in harmony."

"I think not. It is our duty to fight heresy wherever we find it."

The clergyman drew a massive Webley revolver from his coat pocket, but even as he raised it Holmes thrust his cigar onto the touch-hole of the small brass cannon on the desk beside him. There was a loud report, a jet of flame and smoke and the aristocrat screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his side. The door burst open and his henchman entered, only to be felled in his turn when Holmes fired the second replica weapon.

I stanched the blood of each with my handkerchief while Holmes seized both their weapons and subdued the remaining servants and henchmen.

The maid Milly was sent with a note for help. Before long our captors were under police guard in St. Bart's and his footmen in the less salubrious quarters of the cells on Scotland Yard.

The great house had been rented from an elderly Marquis who knew nothing of the plot.

We had been the prisoner of a well known Marquis of the most conservative views, whose days in Cambridge had been devoted to opposing all change and all secular sciences or philosophies. Among his papers Holmes found the names of several other conspirators, some of them the highest in the land, and Lestrade sent forth his constables to gather them in.

Over a brandy that evening, Homes mused, "It is a strange thing, Watson, to take the veracity of any document, however ancient and sacred, as being above questioning. A faith that does not live side by side with rationality is a sad faith, and pitiful in their turn are those who would conceal their own doubt by attacking those who might dissent. It is a fortunate thing, that such fundamentalists are a dying breed in these modern times, unlikely to cause trouble to future generations."

"Indeed it is Holmes, and even more fortunate that you set aside time from your chemical works to compound a few charges of gunpowder and to cast bullets from your paper weight."

He smiled one of his rare smiles, "Fetch your hat, Watson, I think we need an element of levity to follow such a grim adventure, Watson. William Gilbert may be persuaded to provide a pair of tickets to his latest work tonight, I fancy, following that small service I was able to do for him last June."


End file.
